


Blurring the Lines (So Tell Me What You Want)

by 4ce_in_sp4ce



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies, Anal Sex, M/M, Porn With Plot, Yusuf and Ariadne are only present very briefly, or at least somewhat of a plot, somewhat jealous Eames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 03:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30065886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4ce_in_sp4ce/pseuds/4ce_in_sp4ce
Summary: When Eames had learned that Arthur would be undercover on the job as well he'd assumed that meant he'd be there as another potential business partner of Fischer's. That was very much not what he found, however.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	Blurring the Lines (So Tell Me What You Want)

“Okay, I’m in place. You’re set to come in.”

Eames nodded as Ariadne’s voice crackled over his earpiece. “Am I good on your end, Yusuf?”

“You’re reading clear, head on in.”

He set off across the street towards the club, the deep base of the music inside already reaching him. The comms honestly probably wouldn’t be that helpful once he was inside, not with how much background noise there was; he’d been able to hear Ariadne okay so outgoing might be alright, but once he was inside the music might be too loud for him to hear anything incoming. Safety was safety, though, so a wire and earpiece it was. “Heard anything from Arthur?”

“He’ll, uh, he’ll be radio silent tonight. He’s inside though, and should be in place.”

Eames frowned at Yusuf’s response. That was unusual, _especially_ for Arthur. He was usually the one insisting on safety protocols in the first place. “There a particular reason _why_ he’ll be radio silent?”

“I, um, I couldn’t put a wire on him and he might be too close to Fischer to safely wear an earpiece.”

“Right.” The idea of Arthur not having a wire or comm didn’t sit well with him, but there wasn’t exactly much he could do about it. This wasn’t technically a fully joint operation so Eames knew frustratingly little about Arthur’s end of the operation. The only reason he and Ariadne were working with Eames and Yusuf in the first place was because it had become apparent part way through planning that both MI6 and the CIA had operations targeting Fischer that were likely going to converge around the same time, so it was easier to simply combine the two together. The CIA had been cagey about the actual details of their operation though, as they tended to be, so all Eames really knew was that Arthur would be undercover tonight too. He didn’t know what his cover was or any of the details and he _certainly_ didn’t know how any of it would make it so that Arthur couldn’t wear a wire, but at least it was Arthur. He could be a bit stiff at times but he was a damn good agent, and they’d worked enough jobs together that Eames trusted him. Whatever his cover was, Eames had no doubt he’d have his back if it came down to it. 

Security let him in easily and Eames made his way across the floor of the club with casual confidence, catching a brief glimpse of where Ariadne was seated by the bar, there to provide support if the job went south. She looked perfectly at home, but the club immediately began to grate on Eames’ nerves. It was a high-end place, the sort with an exclusive list that took months to even get on, where celebrities and rich socialites with too much money and not enough common sense went to get wasted and do designer drugs. It was _far_ too snobby for Eames’ taste, honestly, and was much nicer than anywhere he’d willingly go under normal circumstances. He much preferred smaller hole-in-the-wall places, bars rather than clubs, and certainly nothing this uppity. Right now, though, he wasn’t Eames. He was Eric Townsend, an arms dealer, and Eric Townsend _liked_ uppity. He liked to go to places designed to let you show off your wealth and liked to make sure everyone there knew he was richer than them and wouldn’t be caught _dead_ in any place where even the cheapest drinks cost less than €50. So Eames moved across the room towards the entrance to the VIP lounge with the confidence of a man who knew that the front part of even a club as exclusive as this was below him. 

He gave the security guard who stepped in front of him as he approached the door an unimpressed look. “My name’s on the list, darling. Townsend.” The guard didn’t move, meeting Eames’ gaze evenly as his coworker checked the list. Eames had to give him credit; Townsend’s gaze wasn’t an easy one to meet and was even harder to maintain, but the guard didn’t seem fazed in the least. It wasn’t until his coworker confirmed that Townsend’s name was indeed on the list that he stepped aside, expression still not shifting in the slightest. Eames flashed him a superficial smile. “Thanks, love.”

The back lounge felt like an entirely different world from the rest of the club. The loud beats of the regular club’s dance music faded abruptly as the door closed behind him, replaced by still loud but less aggressive electronic music. The area was dark, mostly lit with ambient floor lighting around tables and couches, and it took Eames’ eyes a moment to adjust. He paused, glancing around until he caught sight of Fischer’s profile. Even in the low light he’d recognized him immediately; this was the first time they’d met in person but Fischer’s file at MI6 was extensive and Eames had spent hours pouring over it, familiarizing himself with Fischer and memorizing the details to the point that he felt like they’d been working together for years already. Not that he was a particularly hard man to break down; he was little more than a run of the mill trust fund baby with daddy issues and enough money to do what he wanted and get away with it. Eames had dealt with far more complicated people while working with far less information. He wandered over to the couch where Fischer was sitting. “Mr. Fischer, I presume?”

Fischer looked up with a bored expression. He was leaning against the back of the couch, one hand holding a drink and the other groping the ass of the young man plastered to his side, face pressed against Fischer’s neck. Other than the two of them, though, the only people by the table were Fischer’s security; it seemed Arthur wasn’t quite in place after all, at least not yet. “I’m guessing you must be Mr. Townsend.”

“Nice to finally get to meet you in person.” Eames raised an eyebrow. “Mind if I take a seat?”

Fischer shrugged. “Be my guest.” He finished off his drink as Eames sat down. “Let me get you a drink. What’ll you have?”

“Just a glass of Glenfiddich for me.”

“Good taste. Never quite understood the allure of whiskey myself, but if you’re going to drink it, at least go for the high quality stuff.”

“Well, it’s not for everyone.” Eames looked around the room as Fischer motioned for one of the servers, eventually turning his attention to the young man sharing the couch with them. He was obviously there for entertainment rather than business; a mesh crop top with barely enough fabric to even be considered a shirt, leather pants tight enough to leave _very_ little to the imagination, and hand resting on Fischer’s inner thigh made that very clear. It certainly wasn’t unexpected, Fischer’s plethora of boytoys and side pieces was far from a secret, but Eames was a little surprised to find one at a business meeting. “Didn’t realize we’d be having company with us tonight.”

“Mm, nice, isn’t he?” Fischer tightened his grip on the man’s ass slightly before trailing his hand up the man’s side and up to his face, tilting his chin with his fingers. “Say hello to our guest.”

The man peeled himself back from Fischer’s side reluctantly and looked over, Eames’ eyes widening slightly as he finally caught sight of his face. When Arthur had said he’d be undercover as well, Eames had assumed he’d meant as another business associate not a bloody _rentboy_. Arthur gave him an impassive, almost bored look without a hint of recognition. “Hello.”

“Just a bit of entertainment. Nothing to worry about.” Fischer picked up his glass from the tray as the server walked over. “Now, shall we get down to business?”

Eames nodded, shoving down his surprise and grabbing his own drink from the server as well. “Of course. Your offer was certainly intriguing.”

“Well, I’m always interested in branching out. The best way to make money is to expand your customer base, and you seem like a promising avenue to do that.”

Eames listened as Fischer detailed his plans to expand his father’s business into the arms trafficking industry, cataloguing the information and details in his mind to write up in his report later. He’d expected Fischer to be at least somewhat more reticent with the details- caution was a criminal’s best friend, after all, especially with the amount of money being discussed- but Fischer tossed the information around as easily as he tossed his money, with little regard to the power behind or consequences of either. He was an intelligence agent’s _dream_ , giving Eames information he hadn’t even _asked_ him for. 

He caught his attention wandering occasionally, though, drawn back to Arthur. No wonder Yusuf hadn’t been able to get a wire on him. Wires for missions like this weren’t usually an issue, they could usually be easily hidden under clothes or in collars, but Arthur’s outfit didn’t leave many options. Or _any_ options, really. This was admittedly a good cover to use, given both Fischer’s penchant for boytoys and willingness to talk business in front of entertainment, and Arthur played the part well. _Quite_ well actually, seeming wholly disinterested in Fischer’s conversation with Eames and perfectly content to simply let Fischer casually feel him up as he talked with little other role in the proceedings. It wasn’t the most drastic cover Eames had seen a fellow agent take, not by a long shot. But this wasn’t just any agent. This was _Arthur_. Arthur, with his tailored suits and unamused looks and air of detachment. Hell, the most casual thing he’d ever seen Arthur in before was a button up shirt without a tie; this was something else entirely. The mesh top- Eames felt calling it a shirt was a bit too generous and also insulting to _actual_ shirts- put the muscles and long lines of Arthur’s torso on full display. The pants did much the same, hugging his hips and legs tightly and showing off the curve of his ass in a way that fitted trousers could never achieve. For as jarring a look as it was, Eames had to admit it was also a pleasant one. Arthur had always been nice to look at, and there was so much more on display now to appreciate.

“So what are your prices?”

Eames pulled his gaze away from Arthur and back to Fischer. He couldn’t only half-heartedly pay attention to this part of the conversation, not if he wanted to keep his cover. “That would depend on what you’re buying.”

“Let’s say I wanted a wide spread. What would my options be?”

“Well, I offer a fairly wide selection of wares.” Eames took a drink. “In terms of regular arms, I offer everything from classics to cutting edge. Prices vary based on how new the product is and how difficult it is to acquire, of course, but I charge a fair market rate.” He caught his gaze being drawn back to where Fischer’s hand was still groping Arthur ass and quickly looked back up. “I, uh, I also offer a wide range of explosives, though they’re more expensive due to handling costs and considerations.”

“And ammunition?”

Fischer’s other hand was moving up the inside of Arthur’s thigh and Eames took another drink, trying not to frown. “In addition to all regular ammunition I can also supply specialty rounds. Hollow point, armour piercing, the likes. Of course, specialized ammunition would be more expensive, but I can offer a good deal if you buy in bulk, and particularly if you buy in combination with the actual weapons themselves.”

“And if we were to enter into a wholesale agreement, I assume I would be able to expect specialty pricing?”

“Of course.” Fischer’s hand had moved higher up on Arthur’s thigh and some of the frown that Eames was trying to suppress made it out onto his face despite his efforts. He was sure Arthur had known exactly what a cover like this would entail when he agreed to it and he wouldn’t have agreed to it if he hadn’t been okay with it, but the sight still sat oddly with Eames. Arthur wasn’t the sort of person to let people simply do whatever they wanted, watching Fischer do exactly that felt…wrong.

“Want to play with him?”

“Hm?” Eames looked back up at Fischer, surprised.

Fischer grinned at him. “You’ve barely taken your eyes off him since you sat down, don’t bother trying to tell me you’re not interested.” 

Eames swallowed. Townsend wouldn’t turn down an offer like that and Eames didn’t want to risk blowing his cover, but the thought of having Arthur against him like he was currently against Fischer was…a bit much. “You really don’t have to, I’m not…”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind sharing.” Fischer pushed Arthur off him slightly, motioning to Eames. “Entertain Mr. Townsend.” The movement and Fischer’s dismissive tone grated against Eames’ nerves, but Arthur showed no sign of being bothered. He slid across the couch to where Eames was sitting, closing the space between them and trailing his hands up Eames’ torso as he leaned into the crook of Eames’ neck. Fischer gave him another grin that bordered on a leer. “You’re here as my guest, Mr. Townsend, let me treat you. Besides, I can always get another like him if I get bored.”

“I…you’re a very generous man, Mr. Fischer.” Eames wrapped his arm around Arthur, letting his hand settle on Arthur’s wasit; it would look suspicious otherwise. He took a drink and tried not to focus on the feeling of Arthur’s skin under his hand. “I’m looking forward to doing business with you.”

Fischer picked his drink back up. “As am I.”

He went back to discussing the details of their possible business arrangement and Eames tried to listen. He really did. His boss would have his _head_ if he missed this information. But it was harder now, the feeling of Arthur against him far more distracting than he’d anticipated. Eames had to give him credit; Arthur was playing the part beautifully but carefully, moving in close and letting his hands trail across Eames’ chest and torso but never lower. It was a fine line to walk between keeping up his cover without crossing boundaries, and Arthur walked it better than most people could dream of. But still. Focusing on Fischer’s words was a mite more difficult with Arthur’s breath on his neck, lips just barely ghosting over his skin. More than a mite, actually. It was _a lot_ more difficult, his attention derailing every time Arthur’s lips brushed ever so lightly against his neck or jaw. And the feeling of Arthur’s skin under his fingers was strangely electric, grabbing his attention every time Arthur shifted even slightly. 

Fischer was in the middle of discussing the logistics of the money transfer when his cell went off. He picked it up, frowning, before looking back up at Eames. “Terribly sorry, Mr. Townsend, but I have to get this. I’ll be right back.” He stood up with a sigh. “I’ll be back in a few. Please feel free to order another drink in the meantime. My tab, of course.”

Eames nodded, watching Fischer as he walked off. He had, admittedly, missed a fair portion of the last bit of conversation, but Yusuf should’ve hopefully been able to pick it up through the comm so it wouldn’t be that much of an issue. He could just listen to the recordings later as he wrote up his report. Arthur shifted beside him, drawing Eames’ attention back. Fischer may have been out of sight but his security certainly wasn’t, and Eames had no doubt they’d report if anything seemed off, so it was important to keep up appearances. And Townsend wouldn’t squander an opportunity like this. “Mm, and what can I call you, pet? Besides gorgeous.”

Arthur giggled. “Charlie’s fine.” His voice had the soft, almost dream-like quality of someone who’d taken a fair amount of substances, so different from Arthur’s normal clipped, no nonsense tone. 

“Charlie, hm?” Eames suppressed a slight shiver as Arthur’s hand trailed down his chest. Yusuf and Ariadne were never going to let either of them live this down. It wasn’t actually that bad, though, having Arthur against him like this. He was an attractive man to begin with, and his current choice in outfit certainly didn’t hurt the situation in the least. Eames had admittedly wondered throughout their time working together what Arthur looked like under his prim and proper fitted suits- he cut an impressive figure in them, and Eames had had no doubt he cut even more of one out of them- but he’d always figured it would be something he’d have to be content with simply imagining. He ran his fingers up under the mesh fabric of Arthur’s top and lightly along his ribs, still marveling slightly at the sensation of Arthur’s skin against his. The feeling of hard muscle and bare skin under his hand was striking; he’d known Arthur was fit, most people in their line of work were, but it was different to actually feel it like this. To _see_ it like this. “You’re an attractive lad, Charlie.”

“Am I?”

“You are.” He let his hand drop back down to Arthur’s waist and then down to his hip, the feeling of leather under his fingers strangely nice. It was still far enough up that he didn’t think Arthur would mind, and he had no doubt that Arthur would shift to redirect his hand if he felt the need. “I can see why Mr. Fischer picked you.”

Arthur leaned in slightly closer, letting his fingers trail across Eames’ chest and under his jacket. It was a light touch but Eames shivered at it nonetheless. “He says I’m good at this. Do you think I’m good at this, Mr. Townsend?”

There was a slight teasing quality in Arthur’s tone under the substance-affected softness, and Eames couldn’t help but grin a little. _There_ was a glimpse of the Arthur he knew, even if just a small one. He suppressed another shiver as Arthur dragged his hand down his ribs slowly. He never would’ve imagined Arthur as being so good at a cover like this, but _christ_ the man knew what he was doing. He tightened his grip on Arthur’s hip slightly, running his thumb over the crest of the bone. “I’d say so.” It was tempting to let his hand wander just slightly farther down, to see what Arthur’s ass felt like. He’d certainly wondered before, more often than he would ever be willing to admit; properly tailored clothes could certainly show a person’s body off, and Arthur never wore anything but. And his current pants made the prospect even more appealing, the tight leather highlighting the long, lean lines of Arthur’s hips and legs even in the darkness of the club. Eames pushed the thought aside though. This was just a job, and Arthur was just maintaining his cover. They were _both_ just maintaining their covers.

Arthur's hand dropped down to Eames' waist and Eames could feel him smiling slightly and his lips brushed against the skin on his neck. Eames closed his eyes briefly at the feeling; just maintaining their covers or no, it still felt nice. More than nice actually. Wonderful. He let his mind wander for a moment, imagining what it would be like if this wasn't a job, to have Arthur pressed against him like this normally. It was a risk, they were still very much on the job and he knew he needed to focus on maintaining his cover and stay alert for anything Fischer did, but the temptation to simply let himself enjoy the feeling even just briefly was too strong to ignore. He could feel Arthur smiling again as he pressed a kiss against Eames' jaw, the fuller contact after mostly just ghosting brushes catching him wonderfully by surprise. "Enjoying yourself?"

The teasing quality was slightly stronger in Arthur's voice now and Eames wanted to be annoyed with him- he was having _far_ too much fun with this, the prat- but Arthur was pressing a kiss to his pulsepoint now and _oh_ he actually quite liked how that felt. "Immensely, darling." He hoped the slightly breathy quality to his voice wasn't too noticeable over the music but even if it was it didn't really matter. Townsend would be enjoying this too after all; he could simply say he was keeping his cover. It wasn't Townsend who leaned his head back though, giving Arthur more access to his neck, and it certainly wasn't Townsend whose breath hitched just slightly as Arthur's lips pressed against his skin again. It was harder now not to let his hand wander farther down, his fingers stretching across the leather slightly.

Arthur shifted against him, positioning himself so that his legs were draped across Eames' lap. The movement felt oddly hesitant compared to the rest of Arthur's actions, like he was unsure of Eames' reaction. It certainly caught him slightly off guard, but he wasn't going to complain. Eames' hand was partially resting on Arthur's ass now that he'd shifted and Eames figured Arthur would shift slightly again to reposition him, but he stayed where he was, one of his hands coming up to cup Eames' jaw as Arthur pressed another kiss against his neck. Eames rested his other hand on Arthur's knee after a moment, still ready for Arthur to pull away at any moment. It was so tempting to let his hand slide further up the inside of Arthur's thigh, to pretend that this _wasn't_ just a job, that _Arthur_ \- not Charlie- was okay with Eames touching him like this. He knew that wasn’t the case, this _was_ just a job and these _were_ just covers, but the temptation to imagine otherwise was still there. Because he wasn't Townsend anymore as he closed his eyes again, savouring the feeling of Arthur's lips against his skin. It was just _him_ , and _god_ what he wouldn’t give for more.

"Glad to see you're enjoying yourself."

Fischer's voice snapped Eames back to the present. He pulled away slightly, trying to reassemble his cover in his mind. It was usually easy for him to switch into whatever role he needed to, but the feeling of Arthur pressed against him made it more difficult than he cared to admit. He grinned and leaned back against the couch, both to play up Townsend's relaxation and to give himself a few extra seconds to regain his composure. "Mm, you said yourself I could barely take my eyes off of him." He let his hand wander back down to Arthur’s ass, his grin turning into more of a leer; Townsend would take full advantage of the opportunity, and Arthur seemed surprisingly fine with Eames acting on that. It would probably be his only opportunity to do so anyways, and if Arthur was okay with it then he couldn’t think of a reason not to. "I have to say, Mr. Fischer, you have _very_ good taste."

"We seem to be of a similar mind on many things, Mr. Townsend." Fischer sighed. "Unfortunately it seems I'm going to have to cut our meeting short. I have a few…personal matters that need attending to.” He flashed a superficial smile. “I will be sure to reach out to you though. You’ve made a compelling offer and I look forward to continuing business with you. It’s a decision that I believe will be highly beneficial- and profitable- for the both of us.” He motioned vaguely towards the table. “Please feel free to stay as long as you’d like. I reserved the table for the whole night, so there’s no rush.”

“Your generosity is quite impressive.” Eames paused. With Fischer leaving there was no real reason to stay, and doing so would simply increase the chances of his and Arthur’s covers being blown somehow. At least their covers gave them an easy out. He brought his hand up to Arthur’s face, tilting his chin up with a finger. “What do you think, pet? You want to stay here, or head somewhere a bit more…private?”

Arthur gave him the same impassive, glassy-eyed look he’d had earlier, the drug addled softness back in his voice. “Whatever you want, Mr. Townsend.”

“More private is it, then.” Eames pushed Arthur’s legs off his lap and stood up, trying to ignore how much he immediately missed the contact. He reached his hand out, shaking Fischer’s. “I look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Fischer, and working out the final details of our arrangement.” Arthur had stood up as well and Eames looped his arm around his waist, letting his hand settle back on Arthur’s hip. It wasn’t quite the level of contact they’d had while sitting down, but it still felt nice all the same. “You know how to contact me.”

He made his way across the dark room towards the door to the main part of the club, Arthur nearly hanging off of him. Security opened the door for them and they made their way out onto the regular floor. After the dark and relative quiet of the VIP lounge, the blaring music and flashing lights felt almost jarring. Eames set a comfortable pace, not wanting to move too quickly; he wouldn’t be surprised in the least if Fischer’s security was still watching them, so it wouldn’t do to look like they were in a hurry.

After a few seconds, Yusuf’s voice crackled in over Eames’ earpiece. “Okay, all the recordings are set and mission assistance is officially coming to an end, so you’re all on your own. We’ll meet at headquarters tomorrow morning at nine to go over details and next steps.” He paused. “Eames, I’d appreciate it if you could, uh, pass that along to Arthur.”

Eames leaned in until his mouth was by Arthur’s ear, doing his best to keep up appearances for their covers. It was easy, really, the motion probably looking like nothing more than a kiss from afar, and Eames did his best not to think about what it would feel like to actually kiss Arthur. “Nine tomorrow morning at HQ.”

Arthur turned his head slightly. “We’re on our own then from here on out?”

Eames nodded. It was protocol on most jobs for the exact same reason Eames was being careful not to walk too fast; if they were still being watched- which they likely were- meeting up as a team was too dangerous so once the mission objective had been met, as long as no agents were in immediate danger, they were left to their own devices. No comms, no recordings, no way to contact other team members outside of normal civilian means. It wasn’t a perfect system and Eames had definitely had his issues with it over the years, but it was what it was. “We should stick together for a few blocks just to be safe, but then we should be good to go our separate ways.” Eames tried to ignore the slight pit in his stomach at the thought, reminding himself that this was just a job, just a cover. Nothing more. “I doubt Fischer’s security will be that thorough.”

Arthur pulled away slightly, pulling back to look at Eames more fully. The glassy disinterest was completely gone from his expression, replaced by the normal sharpness that Eames was used to. It was mixed with a curious uncertainty, though, that seemed so out of place on Arthur’s features. “Probably not.” He reached out, letting his fingers run down Eames’ chest and tugging on his tie gently. He seemed to hesitate then shifted direction slightly so that he was pulling Eames towards the dance floor rather than the exit. “But better to be careful, right?”

The uncertainty was still in Arthur’s expression and after a moment Eames recognized it for what it was- an invitation. He nodded, feeling his heartbeat pick up as Arthur tugged again. There was a hesitancy in his movements but Eames followed easily, letting Arthur guide further into the throng of half wasted socialites. When Arthur finally came to a halt Eames moved in close, resting his hands on Arthur’s hips with his own level of uncertainty. This was an invitation but Eames wasn’t entirely sure to _what_ ; he knew what he _wanted_ it to be an invitation to, but what he wanted and what Arthur was offering might be two very different things. The crowd pressed in around them, crowding them together, but Eames barely noticed them, his attention focused solely on Arthur. “For the cover?”

Speaking over the music was difficult, but they were close enough for it to be possible. Arthur was pressed against him, the pressure of the crowd moving them in time with the music. Eames watched Arthur’s expression as carefully as he could despite the movement and the dim, flashing light, and Arthur seemed to be watching him just as carefully in return. “If you want it to be.”

Eames hesitated. It suddenly struck him how much Arthur stood out from their surroundings now that they weren’t under the immediate gaze of Fischer’s security, his sharp, intense focus seeming oddly still in the chaos around them. How dangerous he looked. How beautiful. He let his hands slide down slightly, fingers stretching back out over the leather of Arthur’s pants. “And if I don’t want it to be for the cover?”

Arthur moved in closer, sliding his hands under Eames’ jacket and trailing them down his ribs in a slow deliberate motion that made heat coil in Eames’ abdomen. “Then what do you want?”

Eames leaned in until his mouth was next to Arthur’s ear again, the movement feeling far more intimate than it had only a minute ago. “You, darling.” The words were a risk, he knew that, but they were a risk he was willing to take. That he _wanted_ to take. “I want you.”

“Then you can have me.” The heat in Eames’ gut spiked at Arthur’s words, his breath catching in his throat slightly. After a moment Arthur turned in his arms until his back was pressed against Eames’ chest. Eames kept one of his hands resting on Arthur’s hips, holding him in place as they moved, trailing the other up Arthur’s side and under his shirt. The feeling of Arthur’s muscles moving as they danced, bare skin under Eames’ fingers, was captivating and Eames pulled him in as close as he could, leaning in to press a harsh line of kisses along Arthur’s shoulder and up onto his neck. Arthur tilted his head back to give Eames better access, bringing his hand up to the side of Eames’ face.

Eames wasn’t sure how long they danced like that. It was a wonderful feeling having Arthur pressed against him so fully, the friction of their bodies making him gasp and leaving him desperate for more. The way Arthur ground back against him, hips moving with the loud steady beat of the music, left him nearly breathless. The crowd of the dance floor and the unending movement meant they were both quickly glistening with sweat but Eames didn’t care in the least. Arthur’s skin was slick and electric, the taste of salt in Eames’ mouth as he kept his face pressed against the pale skin of Arthur’s neck far more enticing than it should have been. In all the times Eames had worked with Arthur, all the times he’d admired him from afar- admired the way he looked in a suit, the way he moved with such lethal grace, the way he was so _fucking beautiful_ in the most dangerous way- he’d never imagined that Arthur had a side like this to him, or that he would let Eames even so much as glimpse it if he did. He could feel Arthur panting, could feel the slight vibration in his chest as he moaned, and he wanted nothing more than to get Arthur alone. To lay him out and explore him slowly and hear all the sounds he could make when it was just the two of them, no job or covers or crowd to distract them. Even just the thought was enough to make Eames’ grip on Arthur’s hip tighten, his fingers spanning both slick skin and leather.

When Eames began urging them towards the exit Arthur moved with him easily, pulling away just enough that they could make their way through the crowd but never any more than he had to. He leaned in as they approached the door, looking back over his shoulder slightly so that he was looking at Eames. “Your hotel or mine?”

Eames wasn’t sure the shiver that ran down his spine was from the implication- the _invitation-_ of the question or from the sound of Arthur’s voice, warm and quiet, by his ear, but either way he didn’t even bother trying to suppress it this time. “Whichever one is closer.”

Arthur grinned at him and Eames hadn’t known a simple look could be so effective but the sight of it made Eames want to pull him in then and there. Arthur pulled him towards the door, leading the way now, and Eames followed wordlessly. The cold air outside the club was a shock, especially with the sweat soaking through his shirt, and the sudden quiet after hours of loud music felt strange. He kept his arms wrapped around Arthur as best he could as they made their way quickly through the streets, both to try and offset how cold he was sure Arthur must be in the night air- if the air had been a shock to Eames, he could only imagine how cold it must’ve felt for Arthur- and to keep the contact between them, not wanting to give up the feeling of Arthur’s skin under his hands any more than he had to. 

He barely managed to wait until the door was closed before he had Arthur pinned against it. Arthur pulled him in, kissing him hard and desperately, moaning quietly as Eames slipped his tongue into his mouth. Eames moved to his throat, zeroing in on Arthur’s pulsepoint the same way Arthur had done to him back in the club. The quiet, breathy sound Arthur let out was beautiful and Eames worked to draw it out of him again, biting down slightly and grinning against Arthur’s skin as Arthur swore quietly. Arthur’s hands were grasping at his shirt, his fingers fumbling to undo the buttons and loosen Eames’ tie, and he pushed it off of Eames’ shoulders, hands running over Eames’ skin and searching for purchase as Eames captured Arthur’s mouth again, kissing him hungrily. 

Eames backed up slowly, pulling Arthur with him but never pulling away, until they reached the bed. Arthur nearly fell onto the covers as the back of his knees hit the bed and Eames stood over him, savouring the view. Arthur had propped himself up on his elbows and was looking up at him with dark eyes. His clothes left even less to the imagination here in the glow of the hotel room lamp than they had in the darkness of the club, the long lines and hard muscle of his torso beautifully on display. The tight leather hugged his hips and left oh so little to the imagination, and _christ_ if Eames hadn’t been hard already he sure as hell was now.

Eames knelt on the floor by the bed, splaying Arthur’s legs slightly and moving between them. The look on Arthur’s face, pupils blown wide with arousal, as Eames slid his hands up his thighs was enough that Eames considered just climbing on top of him then, but he held back. He wanted to take his time, to explore the edges and hollows of Arthur’s body and take him apart slowly and with the care and reverence he deserved. “You’re beautiful, darling.” He pressed a line of kisses along the crest of Arthur’s hip, hard enough that he knew they would leave marks but gentle enough to make Arthur gasp quietly. “A work of art.”

“Jesus, Eames…” Arthur’s fingers were in his hair and _oh_ that was nice, the slight tug every time Eames found a particularly sensitive spot and Arthur’s grip tightened making the heat in his abdomen burn just that much hotter. Arthur was so _sensitive_ , letting out quiet gasps and moans as Eames made his way slowly up his torso. The sounds seemed so loud in the quiet room, the way he moaned Eames’ name feeling so wonderfully obscene. By the time Eames had reached Arthur’s chest, having climbed up onto the bed to straddle Arthur’s hips and leaving a line of bruising kisses along his collarbone, he was almost painfully hard, the litany of quiet sounds he’d managed to draw out of Arthur even more wonderful than he’d imagined back in the club. “My bag, by _ah-_ ” Arthur’s voice was breathy and his sentence cut off with a small gasp as Eames moved back to the spot on his throat that had made him respond so wonderfully back by the door. “By the bed. Side pocket.”

Eames pulled back somewhat reluctantly, not wanting to give up the contact, and reached over the side of the bed to the bag and pocket Arthur was referring to. He couldn’t help but let out a breathless chuckle when he found a condom and bottle of lube there. “So prepared.” He undid Arthur’s pants, sliding them off his hips slowly and deliberately, savouring the way Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut at the slight friction. “I shouldn’t be surprised in the least.”

Arthur captured his mouth again, biting at his bottom lip, and Eames could feel him grinning. “Just shut up and fuck me, Eames.” 

Arthur’s words made the heat in Eames’ gut flare and it was his turn to gasp quietly, his own eyes fluttering shut, as Arthur undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants, fingers brushing against Eames’ erection. His cock twitched in anticipation at the sight of Arthur naked beneath him and he coated a finger generously in lube, prepping Arthur slowly and carefully. He watched, almost entranced, as Arthur gasped beneath him, grasping the sheets as Eames added a second and then a third finger. He’d certainly thought about what it would be like to fuck Arthur over the years, but actually seeing him like this, dishevled and open and so wonderfully out of sorts, was something completely different.

He pulled the condom on, lining himself up and pressing in slowly. He paused, watching Arthur’s expression to make sure he had prepared him enough. “Are you alright?” Arthur nodded and Eames continued pressing in until he was fully against Arthur. The feeling of Arthur around him was wonderful and he rolled his hips, rocking into Arthur slowly. “Fuck, Arthur…” Arthur braced himself against the mattress, legs tightening around Eames’ waist. He gripped the sheets as Eames set a pace, as slow and languid as he could manage. He wanted to savour this, savour how Arthur felt and how he looked, panting and staring up at Eames with half lidded eyes as Eames thrust into him. “Jesus, Arthur, you’re gorgeous…”

“Eames…” Arthur’s voice bordered on a whine. He arched his back as Eames continued thrusting, raising his hips to meet Eames’. He’d closed his eyes and was gripping the sheets tighter, muttering Eames’ name mixed in with curses. The slack pleasure in his expression was captivating, so raw and vulnerable and _human_ , and Eames watched him, transfixed. He was beautiful like this and Eames couldn’t look away, didn’t _want_ to look away. His pace was faster now, harder and more desperate, and he wrapped his hand around Arthur’s cock, stroking him in rhythm to his thrusts. Arthur’s moans contained fewer words now, just breathy, needy sounds and the occasional swear. Eames doubted the sounds were really that loud but they sounded obscene in the quiet room, mixing with Eames’ own panting and moans. “Fuck, Eames, I’m close, I’m…”

“Go on, darling.” Eames’ voice was rough. He was close too but he kept stroking Arthur, trying to maintain a steady rhythm as he felt his own orgasm starting to build. Arthur came with a gasp, clenching down around Eames. It only took another couple thrusts before Eames came as well, Arthur’s name on his lips, and he leaned forward to brace himself on the bed as he rode the orgasm out.

After a few moments to catch his breath and let his vision clear, Eames pulled out carefully, removing the condom and tying it off, and getting up to throw it in the bin. Arthur was still laying on his back, eyes closed and breathing heavily, when Eames laid back down, his face flushed and relaxed. When he finally opened his eyes he smiled, Eames catching sight of his dimples that were usually so rare to see. There was an openness to his expression that was so different from the unimpressed aloofness Eames was used to seeing and he pulled Eames in, leaning up and meeting him halfway with a kiss. “Best way I think I’ve ever ended a job.”

Eames hummed in agreement. “Undoubtedly.” He propped himself up on his elbow and reached out to brush Arthur’s hair back from where it had fallen in his face. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Arthur so thoroughly debauched, and certainly never looking so seemingly content with it. “I’d been thinking about this all evening, ever since I realized it was you plastered to Fischer’s side.” He raised an eyebrow. “Which caught me bloody off guard, by the way. I would’ve appreciated a bit of heads up on that.” 

Arthur tried to hide his smile, and did a very poor job of it. “Not exactly my call. You know how the agency is- very stingy with who can know what details.”

“You’re damn lucky I have such a good poker face. I expected to find you in a suit, not dressed as a bloody rentboy.”

“What?” Arthur laughed. “I did not look like a _rentboy_.”

Eames leveled a stare at him. “Darling, you were wearing skin tight leather pants and a mesh crop top with so little fabric I don’t think I could, in good conscience, even call it a shirt, all while a rich criminal felt you up. I don’t know what you were aiming for, but rentboy is what you achieved.” He paused, letting his gaze travel the length of Arthur’s body again. “Don’t get me wrong, it was an excellent view, but you _definitely_ looked like a rentboy.”

Arthur laughed even harder. “Okay, fair enough. The goal was more ‘party boytoy’ than ‘rentboy’, but I guess I can see your point.”

“Mm, I’m sure.” Eames let his hand trail down Arthur’s side to his hip, running his thumb back and forth across the crest of the bone. He could already see the marks from earlier starting to form. Knowing they were there because of _him_ was a wonderful feeling. “I hated having to watch Fischer run his hands all over you without a care to how beautiful you are or how much attention you deserve.” The flush in Arthur’s cheeks grew and Eames couldn’t help but grin a little. “Come on, love, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed.”

“No, not embarrassed.” Arthur trailed his hand across Eames’ chest. “Just…flattered.” He traced the outline of one of Eames’ tattoos with slightly calloused fingers, a slight smile playing on his lips. “The entire time he was feeling me up, all I could think about was how I wished it was your hands instead of his. Then it _was_ your hands, and suddenly the job got a whole lot more pleasant.” Eames felt the heat in his own face grow and Arthur grinned at him. “Now who’s embarrassed?”

“You’re a bloody prat, you know that?” Arthur laughed again and Eames’ smile widened; it was nice seeing Arthur like this. More than nice, actually. “Nearly blew my cover a few times because of you.”

“But you didn’t. And I like to think it was worth it for both of us.” Arthur’s smile had a playful, teasing quality. “I’m going to make you at least buy me dinner first next time though. I think it’s only fair.”

Eames paused, hope building in his chest. He raised an eyebrow again. “Next time?”

Arthur shrugged, looking away slightly. The same uncertainty as that had been in his expression when he’d pulled on Eames’ tie, tugging him towards the dance floor, crept onto his face again. The same hesitant offer of an invitation. “If you want there to be one.”

Eames smiled, broadly and genuinely. “I do. Very much so, actually. Dinner and everything.”

“Good.” Arthur leaned in and kissed Eames again before settling against him, his head resting in the crook of Eames’ neck. “I’m glad.”

**Author's Note:**

> this started out solely as me wanting to write Arthur wearing a mesh crop top and then just spiraled out of control from there. oops


End file.
